


your hands clasped in prayer (and your face in a rapture i created)

by YouDontRememberTheSomme



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, Light dom/sub undertones, M/M, PWP, Self-indulgent smut, i guess?, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23151904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDontRememberTheSomme/pseuds/YouDontRememberTheSomme
Summary: 1946 - Tommy runs across a familiar face in a park in Paris.
Relationships: Tommy/Gibson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	your hands clasped in prayer (and your face in a rapture i created)

Tommy found himself counting the sensations as they overwhelmed his senses.

One - Gibson’s hands roaming over his body, slipping under his coat. He wasn’t Gibson anymore, but his name - hell, and almost everything else, really - was escaping him.

Two - the curls he had tightly held in his fists, tight enough that the still-rational part of Tommy’s brain had him wondering if he was hurting him. 

Three - the scent filling his lungs, so uniquely Gibson. He’d caught the scent before, on the beach and again as they’d cowered below deck and Tommy insisted that Gibson wasn’t a spy.

Tommy let a little whine slip when Gibson - Philippe, part of him remembered despite his daze - broke off the kiss. 

"Thought about this on the beach," Philippe murmured roughly, his voice low and heavy. "Wouldn’t have gone well- I want you noisy."

Tommy’s breath hitched at the words but he grinned anyway. 

"Always had me on your mind?"

"Always."

The promise sent a shiver down Tommy’s spine, leaving behind little electric shocks everywhere Philippe touched him. 

"I really thought you were-"

"Let’s not talk about that."

Tommy simply nodded. That was a discussion they could have later, about Philippe’s presumed death and all, when they weren’t nudging at desperate to have their hands on each other. 

Tommy pulled at Philippe’s jacket, giving him a pleading look. 

"Don’t look so needy, I’ll fuck you right here."

"Do you think I’d say no to that?" Tommy hissed in response, bordering on whiny. 

Philippe’s smile was lazy, unrushed despite the tension between them. "Maybe I should, then."

"As long as you hurry."

"Awfully needy."

"You could say I waited a long time for this," Tommy muttered, watching Philippe draw away. "Where are you going?"

"You’ll see."

Tommy huffed out a little sigh, leaning back against the wall to catch his breath. They’d barely gotten in the door before their hands were on each other, and that hadn’t surprised him. He’d known exactly what he was getting into when Philippe invited him back to his apartment, had wanted exactly that. 

He paused a moment, surveying the little home. Tommy couldn’t really say much about what he expected, but he found the apartment fitting. 

He ran a hand through his hair, slowly exhaling as he watched Philippe come back, small vial in one hand. 

"Is that-?"

"I have my reasons for having it," Philippe said dismissively, crowding Tommy against the wall and leaving the vial on the end table beside the couch. "Here?"

"Don’t make me beg."

"I’m almost surprised you haven’t yet. You certainly whine more than I expected - a very pleasant surprise," he murmured, tracing his lips over Tommy’s throat. 

"Shut up," Tommy mumbled, tipping his head back and letting out an annoyed little sound at the laugh he got in response. 

Philippe made short work of Tommy’s clothes, leaving the smaller brunet shivering under his gaze. 

"Quit looking at me like that," he whined, blushing as he unbuttoned Philippe’s shirt. "Just- hurry up."

A smile flickered across Philippe’s face but after that, there wasn’t much talking. That wasn’t to say it was silent - the quiet was punctuated with Tommy’s soft gasps and moans as Philippe, praising him all the while, worked him open. 

At first, it was almost too much - being there, in the man’s presence after so long of thinking he was gone, being able to relax without the lingering fear the war had left him with. 

This was nice, just focusing on Philippe as his fingers so gently worked in and out of him.The man’s voice was soothing, soft and assuring as he murmured to him. 

"That’s it, look at me, Tom," he said softly, ever so carefully pulling his fingers out. 

_Tom._

He liked how that sounded in Philippe’s mouth. 

Philippe said something else, something Tommy’s mind didn’t quite process until the Frenchman picked him up, pinning him between himself and the wall. 

"Ready, cher?" Philippe murmured in Tommy’s ear.

" _Please._ " 

Something akin to wickedness spread over Philippe’s face as he slowly, so slowly, pressed into Tommy. The young man whimpered and squirmed a bit in his arms, letting out little whines for him to hurry.

So, once Tommy was adjusted and fully prepared, he did. 

He didn’t act particularly gently with him, his movements almost desperate as he took in Tommy’s little sounds of pleasure.

Tommy looked bordering on dazed, focused on nothing but Philippe. He dug his nails into the man’s shoulders, nothing escaping his mouth but soft pleas. 

Philippe talked to him, the French words slurring together and sounding incomprehensible to Tommy. That didn’t bother him - he could decipher what was being said, if he really cared to. 

But Tommy didn’t, edging into delirious as he whimpered and cried Philippe’s name like a prayer. 

When he pulled back to look at him, the Frenchman looked outright sinful - his combed hair wrecked and messy from Tommy’s grasping fingers, his eyes deep and hungry and _fuck,_ if that wasn’t the biggest turn on.

Tommy’s hands untangled from Philippe’s curls, his fingers lacing together behind the other man’s head as if to pray. 

If Tommy saw himself - every bit the debauched angel, what little sunlight filtered through the blinds making his blue eyes glow - he’s understand the ravenous desire behind Philippe’s eyes. 

Or maybe he wouldn’t - Tommy never had seen any appeal in himself. 

But he saw the appeal in Philippe, had seen the appeal in the soldier he had called Gibson. 

So if he whimpered a bit louder, whispered Guillet’s name, it was understandable, wasn’t it?

His heart almost ached as he tilted his head back to watch Philippe’s face. If he’d known he was alive, if he had come to Paris just a bit sooner-

Tommy shut that train of thought down. The past years didn’t matter- he was in the present with the man he’d grieved for, that was more than enough. How many people could say they’d had a lost love return after being presumed dead?

_Love._

The word resonated, ringing through Tommy’s brain- at least, what was still functioning with how well Philippe fucked him. Did he love the other soldier? He’d have to consider that later, because all coherent thought was gone when Philippe wrapped a hand around Tommy’s cock.

Tommy gurgled out a soft little plea, his voice going high as he tried to arch up into Philippe’s hand. "Fuck!"

"You’ll disturb the neighbors," Guillet murmured in his ear, his voice lilting toward teasing. 

"Harder," Tommy retorted, ignoring the statement.

"Comme vous le souhaitez," Philippe hissed back, laughing.

The quick movement made Tommy let out a high keening sound, guttural and pleading and absolutely fucking _intoxicating_ to Guillet’s ears, second only to Tommy’s little _please?_

He didn’t go easy on the younger man, not even when Tommy warned that he was close and would "cum right now if you keep that up, Philippe, _please_."

Philippe’s gaze never left Tommy’s face, watching the brunet’s face contort in bliss as he came and praying that he’d have another chance to watch him do just that. He wanted to watch him a hundred fucking times and a hundred more, if he could.

Tommy whined louder when he felt Philippe finish as well, moaned more when he heard him slurring French into the air between them. 

He’d never spoken the language, but he could hear rapture when he helped create it. 

When Tommy finally had his wits about him, he quietly took in what they had done. He was still pinned to the wall, limbs wrapped around Philippe while his partner buried his face in the crook of his neck, catching his breath. 

Two coherent thoughts passed through his head- first _fuck_ , and then _I think I could like life in Paris._


End file.
